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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554675">When Colors Bleed Together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varianlover333/pseuds/Varianlover333'>Varianlover333</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:28:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varianlover333/pseuds/Varianlover333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When colors bleed together, whose soul is left? Oscar wonders this as he stumbles through the tundra to Mantle. </p><p>Set between the ending of Volume 7 and the beginning of Volume 8.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When Colors Bleed Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so I'm not sure where this went, to be honest. It was going to be something about Oscar wondering how their souls would combine, because I thought of this great title, and then it turned into this... But I tried to tie it all up. I hope you enjoy it anyways.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Color. It was something so predominant in Remnant now, had been since the war. Every huntsman and huntress seemed to have their own color scheme. Even civilians seemed to stray towards a particular color. Oscar had always thought his color was orange. His eyes had always been a bright shade of orange. But they had changed. He thought back to the first time he'd noticed it, in the mirror. There was still a hint of orange, right around the pupil. But, for the first time, they had been predominantly green. Ozpin's color. </p><p>	He had tried to embrace this new life he had been thrust into, even picking out a predominantly green outfit, just like his eyes. He kept hints of orange with it, though, as if in a fleeting hope that he would stay himself. But he wasn't sure how long he would be himself. And now, Ozpin was back, and Oscar was stumbling blindly through the cold, trying to get towards Mantle. There was so much at stake, so many lives in danger, and he was thinking about color. He almost laughed at the notion, bitter amusement seeping through him as he clutched his arms around himself. His hands were numb, even through the gloves.</p><p>"Try putting them under your armpits." Ozpin advised, and Oscar felt a flash of annoyance, but did as he'd suggested. It was better. </p><p>	Ozpin had stayed quiet for the most part, allowing Oscar to feel frustration, to think without inturruptions. Gods knew how annoying it was to be in the middle of a thought process just to have the voice in your head break your concentration. He directed this last thought at Ozpin, knowing he was listening. Ozpin was silent, but Oscar felt a pang of guilt radiate of off him. Guilt that he had been dragged into this, that anyone had, that the whole world had. Regret that people had died. Sadness... Overwhelming sadness about those that had.</p><p>"Stop! Stop..." Oscar pleaded, the emotions overwhelming him. The emotions died down, but the guilt remained, an aching throb that never seemed to leave. Oscar felt tears on his face, and he hurriedly wiped them away before they could freeze. </p><p>	The city wasn't too far away now. Oscar was exhausted, forcing his legs to move. They were numb, but whether from the cold or mere exhaustion, he didn't know. His aura had shattered a bit ago, and it had slowly ebbed back up, but the cold was taking it down just as fast as it could come back. Oscar had started walking, hoping to ease the cold, whether the physical cold or the emotional. It had worked for a bit, but now he was tired... So tired... And cold too. What little he had managed to regain was leaving him again, faster this time. </p><p>"I want to stop." He said, but he kept walking. </p><p>	It was an open ended statement. He wanted to stop walking, but he couldn't. He wanted to stop fighting, but he couldn't. He wanted to stop getting hurt by people he thought he could trust, but he couldn't stop that, either. He wanted to stop this merge that was happening with him and Ozpin, but he couldn't. Nobody could. He lingered on that thought for a moment, and then moved on in his rant, thinking of more things he wanted to stop. He wanted to stop feeling the pain, but he couldn't. He wanted to stop people from getting hurt, but he couldn't. He wanted to stop the biting cold from freezing him to death, but he wasn't sure if that was possible, either. What else did he want to stop? It was depressingly calming, thinking of things he couldn't stop. </p><p>"Oscar." Ozpin's voice startled him.</p><p>"I want to stop the voice in my head from talking to me." Oscar grumbled aloud, and he thought he sensed Ozpin's slight, concerned amusement at that one. </p><p>"I understand. I just thought maybe you should focus on what you CAN do, instead of what you can't." Ozpin paused, as if searching for the right words. Oscar felt the bud of inspiration, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say to spark hope, but it was coming, and they could both feel it. </p><p>"I don't want to be inspired, Ozpin." Oscar said, calmly. "I want to think. I want a chance to be depressed. I want a chance..." His voice trailed off, thinking about General Ironwood. The cold, unfeeling look on his face as he watched Oscar fall. "I want a chance to be angry." Frustration washed over him, and he remembered the relic. How he had lost it. How Salem had it. "I want to be angry!" He wasn't sure if he was telling himself or Ozpin at this point. </p><p>	Oscar stopped, letting pure, unfiltered emotion keep him alive at this point. Salem had the relic. Ironwood had shot him. There were Grimm heading towards the city. Salem was heading towards the city. The heat was off in the city he was heading towards to get warm. He was stuck on a Gods-forsaken pit below a city that was full of people that could care less about him. That didn't know him. </p><p>	No, he was stuck on an entire Gods-forsaken planet. Quite literally. His head tilted up, his gaze wandering to the shattered moon. They had left the planet, and had left Ozma-- and him, now-- with an impossible task that they hadn't even been able to accomplish! Was it better wherever they were, he wanted to scream at them. Had they somehow perfected mankind in some other planet? Were they happy now? A scream tore out of his mouth, wild and filled with so many emotions. Rage. Agony. Pain. Lonliness. Fear. Sadness. Oscar fell to his knees, crumpled into a heap as the scream died from his lips. Curled into a ball on his knees, his arms against his chest and pressed against his legs, he began to sob. He didn't care that it would bring Grimm. Let them take him. </p><p>"Oscar." There it was again. A reminder that he would never be himself again. Never alone. And as comforting as the thought was, that he wasn't alone and never would be, it terrified him. "Oscar." Ozpin repeated his name, with a sense of urgency this time. "There's someone here." Oscar pried himself away from his knees, looking up. A broken man, a broken child, two broken souls, staring up at a broken world. </p><p>"Young man, do you need help?" An older gentleman, a faunus, smiled down at him. He didn't look broken. He looked kind, older and wise, but not so old to have felt the same hurt many lifetimes can bring. Not like Ozma. "Here, we have a fire nearby. You can warm up with us." The man helped Oscar to his feet, Oscar numbly allowing him to direct him to a bonfire.</p><p>	A ragtag family sat around the fire. Children, adults, elderly. Some would get up every once in a while, disappearing into the nearby buildings to gather food or blankets and bring them out. Oscar took a seat, a ways away from the rest.</p><p>"Is this your family?" He asked the man. The man shook his head.</p><p>"Oh, no. We've never really met each other before now. Just a bunch of random strangers, all joined by one common disaster, I suppose. It's funny how people band together like that in the darkest of times." The man remarked, looking out at the people. He cleared his throat. "I'll be right back. I have something I need to get." He disappeared into a building. </p><p>	And maybe it was simply the matter-of-fact way that he'd said it, or the memories Oscar had from Ozpin of the same thing happening before, but he smiled. Somehow, that old man had spoken a thousand words, conveyed a thousand emotions, flamed up a thousand fires of hope in Oscar. And he had done it without realizing it. Looking out at the scene before him, Oscar realized this-- this right here-- had inspired him in a way that no long speech or big words could. And he took a breath, releasing it, feeling the negative emotions leave him. Ones that he hadn't even realized had been there. It was going to be okay. He could feel Ozpin agreeing with him silently.</p><p>Two souls, bleeding together. Two colors mixing, in a sea of shimmering hues. And every one of them was beautiful.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yup. That was my feeble attempt at saving this story.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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